Grouper's Laws

by D. Philip Miller

  All the way up to the lake, he’d listened to the rest of the guys talking about what a thrill it was going to be to see the girls in their swimming suits.

  “O-oh-oh, h-how about L-linda L-lapidus?” Shakes said, biting his clenched fist.

  “Or Ethel Philbin?” Feller cooed.

  Blondie hadn’t been able to get into any of that. Now he and the rest of the Club were lying around on some old army blankets his dad had lent them. Shakes was complaining that his made him itch.

  “Bring your own blanket next time,” Blondie snapped.

  “Wh-what’s wrong w-with you?”

  Grouper paid them no attention. He lay on his back — taking up a whole blanket — with the president’s book Profiles in Courage propped up on his great gut. With his light-colored swim trunks and pale body, he looked like a beached white whale — “Moby Dickless,” Brick called him

  The rest of the group — except for Dispatch, who went off looking for Meryl — slopped suntan lotion on themselves and stared aimlessly around. Feller called for a “strategy session” to decide what to do.

  “We c-could p-peek in the girls’ l-locker r-room,” Shakes suggested.

  “That’s cool,” Feller answered sarcastically.

  “We could get drunk,” Brick offered.

  Everyone looked at him.

  “How?” Feller asked.

  “I brought a pint in my duffel bag.”

  Feller groaned.

  “We could get kicked out of school for that.”

  “Well, this sitting around doing nothing stinks,” Brick said. “I don’t know about you bozos, but I’m going to see if I can get into the softball game.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Feller agreed.

  Brick stood up and trudged off, followed by Feller and Shakes.

  “Aren’t you coming, Blondie?” Feller called back.

  “Nah. I just want to relax.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He didn’t bother to ask Grouper, who’d fallen asleep in the sun.

  Blondie sat with his arms around his knees and surveyed the situation. The pols, chops, brains, and jocks had already formed into clusters and staked out their turf — except today many of the athletes and cheerleaders were mingling openly. Blondie noticed Bobby Clements talking to Ethel Philbin. Their conversation seemed intense.

  A few kids swam in the lake, although none stayed in long and all came out shivering and clasping their arms around their chests. Blondie guessed the water would be warmer where it was shallower, near a sandy beach at one end. Maybe he’d wander over later and get wet.

  His interest in doing so soared when he saw a group of girls heading that way and Tammy was one of them! She was wearing a bright red one-piece swimsuit. Blondie had never seen her so meagerly clad. The outline of her pert breasts beneath her suit and her bare legs jolted every neuron in his brain. Blondie scarcely noticed the other girls, who swirled around Tammy like dust around a comet. But he could tell from her sexless gait that one of them was Phyllis. Drat, drat, drat!

  Blondie decided to approach the situation cautiously. He loped halfway to the beach, then ducked beneath the shadow of a large oak. He wondered what to do next. Meanwhile, he couldn’t help watching Tammy. She was like Venus, just emerged from the sea, her motions as graceful as the waves upon the lake.

  A couple of the girls stuck their feet in the water, then shrieked.

  “Blondie!” Phyllis called.

  Damn! He’d been caught watching.

  She waved to him and invited him over.

  Blondie tried to act casual as he strolled from the shadow. He felt like a dork in his jeans and tee shirt when they were all in bathing suits. He thought he detected a flicker of amusement in Tammy’s eyes as he approached.

  Phyllis seemed beside herself to see him.

  “Isn’t this fun?” she gushed.

  “Sort of.”

  He was in a dicey situation. If he acted too nice to Phyllis, Tammy would think he was smitten by her. But if he behaved poorly to her, Tammy would resent him for mistreating her friend.

  “Are you having a good time?” Phyllis asked.

  “Sure.” Blondie screwed his face into a smile.

  “I think you know Tammy.”

  Tammy was still looking at him. Blondie couldn’t read her expression.

  “Well, we’ve never been introduced,” Blondie said.

  “Tammy, this is Bernard. He’s taking me to the prom.”

  Oh, pain. She’d gouged him twice. Bernard? How could she call him that? And why did she have to mention the prom?

  Phyllis put her hand on his arm. Blondie fought his impulse to slap it away.

  “Phyllis has told me all about you,” Tammy said, smiling devilishly.

  What did that mean? Had Phyllis been filling Tammy’s head with crap about her and him?

  “Why don’t you join us?” Phyllis said.

  Blondie noted the multi-colored spread of beach towels a few yards away.

  “Yes, why don’t you?” Tammy chimed in. “For some reason, guys seem to be avoiding us.”

  There was no way Blondie was going to pass up her invitation. He hurried back to where the Grouper lay and grabbed his gym bag.

  “Where’re you going?” Grouper asked groggily.

  “Some girls invited me to join them.”

  “Is Tammy one of them?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Don’t get anyone pregnant.”

  “Very funny.”

  The men’s locker was a concrete bunker filled with wooden benches and wire baskets stacked in racks. Blondie put his clothes in one of the baskets and slipped on the new trunks he bought just for the picnic. To his dismay, they were tight and revealing. He prayed he wouldn’t get an erection. This was no time for Nessie to make a spectacle of himself.

  Unclothed, Blondie was acutely aware of how thin he was. His arms were bicycle handles, his ribs bird cages, his rear end almost a no-show. None of the girls seemed to notice. Most had their eyes closed, soaking up the sun. Jesus, girls were sensual when they just lolled about. Blondie instructed Nessie to disregard the observation.

  Phyllis had placed a towel beside her for him. Blondie was glad to see that Tammy lay on the other side of it. She was lounging on her back, her face hidden behind a huge pair of sunglasses. The contours of her body imprinted themselves upon his brain and, Blondie was sure, into his genetic code so that all future generations of male Reimers would be attracted to girls with figures like hers.

  The next few hours flowed like molasses, slowed further by Phyllis’ constant chattering about school happenings or details of her life — where she’d lived as a child, her family, her hobbies. Blondie did his best to act interested, but his mind was preoccupied with the awesome awareness that his angel lay to the other side of him.

  Every so often, the other girls started a conversation among themselves. Blondie listened attentively. He’d always wondered what girls talked about. He was relieved to find they didn’t talk about boys the way boys talked about them — at least not around him. They discussed movies and records, new clothes, who was going with whom, dumb things their mothers made them do, what they’d be doing in the summer. Stuff like that.

  Tammy didn’t talk as much as most of the girls, but Blondie did pick up a few things about her. She liked silk dresses. She detested her little brother. She thought Tab Hunter was divine. She liked that goopy song “Johnny Angel” by Shelley Fabares. She thought about being an actress.

  Only once did Tammy speak directly to him, asking what it was like to be new at school.

  “A little scary,” he told her, surprised at his candor. “But, when you move around, you meet new people, learn different things.”

  “I’ve always lived in Fenton,” she said with a trace of regret.

  Eventually, the bellowing of the Bear told them it was time to go home. Blondie tarried long after the g
irls had left for the women’s locker room. He was caught in the cloying grip of a contentment he’d never felt before.

  When Blondie finally reached the men’s locker room, it was nearly empty. Brick, fully dressed, was lacing up his sneakers. Blondie found his basket, but his jeans weren’t in it.

  “Where are my jeans?” he muttered to himself.

  “How should I know?” Brick snapped as he left the building.

  What was going on? Had someone put on his jeans by mistake and left the rest of his clothes? It made no sense. He had no choice but to pull on his tee shirt and sneakers and run for the bus, still wearing his swim trunks.

  As he drew near the buses, he saw two guys standing near one of them waving at him. Purdy and Barnwell. What did they want? Purdy pulled a pair of jeans from behind his back and began flapping them in the breeze. They’d stolen his jeans! Son of a bitch. He started running toward them, shoving his way through groups of stragglers. Purdy and Barnwell disappeared into the swarm of buses.

  As he pushed through a group of girls, they began giggling. He stopped and turned around. Mary Cherry stood in their midst, her hand clamped over her mouth and her eyes wide in shock. What the hell was going on?

  He shot them an angry, confused look.

  “Your shirt,” one girl said.

  “What about my shirt?”

  What were they talking about? It was an ordinary white tee shirt.

  “The back,” she added.

  Blondie ripped off his shirt and turned it around. On the back was a grease-pencil drawing of a face, with a penis for a nose and testicles for eyes. Beneath was the caption: “Mr. Bearzinsky is a dick.”

  Blondie didn’t have to guess who the perpetrators were. He wadded the tee shirt into a ball and raced for the buses.

  Feller stood by one of the buses holding his gym bag.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he said. “I thought you were going to miss the bus. Hey, where are your pants? You can’t get on the bus like that.”

  “Purdy and Barnwell took my jeans.”

  Feller reached into his bag and took out a gray windbreaker.

  “At least put this on.”

  “Got to find them,” Blondie said.

  “The motors are going,” Feller said. “You’ve got to get on the bus.”

  Dozens of staring eyes roamed over his body as he picked his way down the aisle to the back of the bus where the rest of the Club was sitting. Grouper, monopolizing one corner, was the color of a rutting salmon, purple pink from too much sun. His fried lips were even puffier than usual. Shakes was squashed into the other corner, a blissful look on his face.

  “What’s with him?” Blondie asked.

  “He drank the whole pint of Brick’s whiskey,” Feller said.

  No wonder Brick was pissed.

  “At least it’s keeping him quiet,” Feller added. “He created a ruckus in the park by mooning a couple football players. I thought they were going to kill him.”

  Gears began grinding as the buses lurched forward. Blondie was glad Tammy wasn’t on his bus. She’d think he was a real dink, running around with no pants on.

  They reached the main road before Blondie looked behind. As soon as he did, he began pounding on the back window. Seated in the front seat of the bus behind were Purdy and Barnwell. They were holding up his jeans and shooting him the finger. What had changed? Why were they challenging him now?

  “Those assholes,” Feller said when he saw what was happening.

  “Wh-what’s g-going on?” Shakes asked, stirring from his stupor.

  Feller pointed out the back window.

  “They stole Blondie’s pants,” he explained.

  “Are y-you n-naked?” Shakes asked Blondie, causing several heads to turn.

  “Christ, shut up!” Blondie barked.

  “I w-was j-just asking.”

  Shakes looked out the back window. Purdy bobbed Blondie’s jeans up and down, as if they were a prize fish. Shakes began unbuckling his jeans.

  “What are you doing?” Blondie cried.

  Shakes pulled his pants and his underwear down around his knees and pressed his tiny alabaster butt against the back window.

  “No, no … ” Blondie begged.

  Behind them, Purdy and Barnwell were furiously shaking their fists at Shakes. Blondie was more worried about the look on the bus driver’s face beside them. He was enraged. He began honking his horn.

  “What’s going on?” a voice boomed from the front of the bus. A large figure rose from the front seat. It was the Bear! When had he gotten on?

  The frantic honking accompanied them up the road as Shakes remained stuck to the rear window.

  “Get down in your seat, Caldane!” Bear yelled. “You could get killed riding like that.”

  Everyone looked back.

  “He’s got his pants down,” a girl shrieked.

  Animal hostility seized Bear’s face. He began hurrying down the aisle. He was after fresh meat and Blondie knew where he was going to find it — pressed up against the back window.

  The bus lurched around a curve and Bear sprawled into the aisle. Brick dragged Shakes down onto the seat.

  “Put your pants on,” he hissed at him. Shakes tugged at his pants, which were wrapped around his ankles, and fell face first onto the floor. Brick grabbed him by the back of his shirt, as if he were a kitten, and lifted him upright while Feller pulled up his pants. By the time Bear, now covered with dust, reached the back of the bus, Shakes was fully clothed.

  “What were you doing, Caldane?” he shouted at him.

  Shakes looked up at Bear with swimming eyes, then flopped against Brick.

  Bear bent over and smelled Shakes’ breath.

  “He’s been drinking!” Bear shouted, as if proclaiming the discovery of penicillin. “Where’s his bag?”

  Brick held it out to him. Bear ripped it open and withdrew an empty pint bottle of Ancient Turkey.

  “Ah ha!” he cried. “I was right. Caldane, you’re out.”

  Bear’s outburst revived him.

  “Wh-what do y-you m-mean?” he stammered.

  “You’re suspended.”

  Blondie felt sorry for Shakes, but he was glad Bear hadn’t suspended him again as well. His mother would weep and his dad would go ballistic.

  Bear started back up the aisle, then turned.

  “Where are your pants, Reimer?” he asked, as if Blondie’s bare legs had just registered.

  “Lost ‘em,” Blondie mumbled.

  “You’re on thin ice, too, Reimer. One more thing …. “

  He stomped off without finishing.

  It was all Purdy and Barnwell’s doing, Blondie thought. Anger welled inside him.

  “Will you come with me when we off the bus?” Blondie asked Brick.

  “What for?”

  “I’m getting my jeans back.”

  Brick’s eyes drew into slits.

  “Yeah, I’ll be glad to.”

  When their buses rolled to a stop in front of the school, Blondie saw Barnwell and Purdy leap from the door of a nearby bus. He and Brick bolted from their seats but got caught in the herd of departing students. By the time they forced their way out, Barnwell and Purdy were halfway across the parking lot, heading for Purdy’s pickup.

  “Hey, you assholes!” Brick yelled at them as he and Blondie charged forward.

  “What do you want, Brick?” Barnwell yelled back, stopping beside the tailgate.

  Purdy stood beside him, grinning and displaying Blondie’s jeans.

  “Blondie wants his pants back.”

  “Well, let him ask for them. Politely.”

  “Give me my clothes,” Blondie demanded, now almost upon them.

  “Say please.”

  Blondie lunged for Barnwell and grabbed his shirt.

  “Listen, you skinny hillbilly fuckface …. ”

  Barnwell pushed him away.

>   “Oh, it’s a fight you want, is it?”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  And, for once, Blondie noted, he wasn’t. His righteous anger flowed like a torrent in a millrace, empowering his arms and his voice. He liked that feeling. Maybe this time he would follow through.

  “Well, good,” Barnwell answered, his small teeth and tight lips a zipper across his face. “I wondered when you were going to quit hiding behind Brick’s skirts.”

  “Who wears skirts?” Brick growled.

  “Easy, Brick, I got no quarrel with you,” Barnwell said. “It’s the giraffe here who wants a fight. You want a piece of me, Mr. Giraffe?”

  It was taking too long. There was too much talk. Blondie could feel his anger begin to subside. Don’t let me down, he begged his body. But he felt fear begin to seep in.

  “If you had another brain, you’d be a half-wit,” Blondie forced himself to say. He wasn’t going to retreat, no matter what.

  Now Barnwell lunged at Blondie. Brick stepped between them.

  “This isn’t the time or place,” he advised.

  “When and where then?” Barnwell demanded.

  “The quarry. Next Saturday night at eight.”

  Why was Brick playing the promoter, Blondie wondered, as the last drop of his anger evaporated.

  “Come on, Purdy, give him his jeans back,” Brick said.

  Purdy looked to Barnwell, who nodded.

  Purdy threw Blondie’s pants at his feet.

  “Saturday night,” Barnwell reminded Blondie as he got in his car. “I’ll let everyone know so you can’t back down.”

  Jesus, what had gotten into Brick’s head? Blondie was going to have to fight Barnwell in front of a frigging mob. He could see the poster in his mind: “Razorbones Barnwell vs. The Giraffe Kid. Scheduled for fifteen rounds — but come early. It may not last that long.” He was as good as dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Blondie was hardly amazed when Mr. Farber told him he was wanted in the principal’s office. He’d always figured Farber and the Bear were in a conspiracy against him. He was just surprised he hadn’t been called first thing in the morning.